Kanaya
@grimlyAuxiliary
Haply I May Remember And Haply May Forget
Forgive Me Everyone I Have Been Quite Busy And The Fireworks That Everyone Has Been Lighting Off Are Just So Lovely
Well Would You Look At The Time I Am So Late To Our Poem Of The Day My Sincerest Apologies Everyone Todays Poem Is Titled " Darkness " By George Gordon Who Is More Famously Known As Lord Byron Who Was The Fifth Duke Of Gordon Lord Byron Was Bisexual Disabled And Bulimic All At Once And He Made A Chalice Out Of A Human Skull There Are Thirteen People Who Have Held The Title Of " Lord Byron " Now That We Are Past Our Facts Here Is Our Poem I Had A Dream, Which Was Not All A Dream. The Bright Sun Was Extinguish'd, And The Stars Did Wander Darkling In The Eternal Space, Rayless, And Pathless, And The Icy Earth Swung Blind And Blackening In The Moonless Air; morn Came And Went—and Came, And Brought No Day, and Men Forgot Their Passions In The Dread of This Their Desolation; And All Hearts were Chill'd Into A Selfish Prayer For Light: and They Did Live By Watchfires—and The Thrones, the Palaces Of Crowned Kings—the Huts, the Habitations Of All Things Which Dwell, Were Burnt For Beacons; Cities Were Consum'd, And Men Were Gather'd Round Their Blazing Homes To Look Once More Into Each Other's Face; Happy Were Those Who Dwelt Within The Eye Of The Volcanos, And Their Mountain-torch: A Fearful Hope Was All The World Contain'd; Forests Were Set On Fire—but Hour By Hour They Fell And Faded—and The Crackling Trunks Extinguish'd With A Crash—and All Was Black. The Brows Of Men By The Despairing Light Wore An Unearthly Aspect, As By Fits The Flashes Fell Upon Them; Some Lay Down And Hid Their Eyes And Wept; And Some Did Rest Their Chins Upon Their Clenched Hands, And Smil'd; And Others Hurried To And Fro, And Fed Their Funeral Piles With Fuel, And Look'd Up With Mad Disquietude On The Dull Sky, The Pall Of A Past World; And Then Again With Curses Cast Them Down Upon The Dust, And Gnash'd Their Teeth And Howl'd: The Wild Birds Shriek'd And, Terrified, Did Flutter On The Ground, And Flap Their Useless Wings; The Wildest Brutes Came Tame And Tremulous; And Vipers Crawl'd And Twin'd Themselves Among The Multitude, Hissing, But Stingless—they Were Slain For Food. And War, Which For A Moment Was No More, Did Glut Himself Again: A Meal Was Bought With Blood, And Each Sate Sullenly Apart Gorging Himself In Gloom: No Love Was Left; All Earth Was But One Thought—and That Was Death Immediate And Inglorious; And The Pang Of Famine Fed Upon All Entrails—men Died, And Their Bones Were Tombless As Their Flesh; The Meagre By The Meagre Were Devour'd, Even Dogs Assail'd Their Masters, All Save One, And He Was Faithful To A Corse, And Kept The Birds And Beasts And Famish'd Men At Bay, Till Hunger Clung Them, Or The Dropping Dead Lur'd Their Lank Jaws; Himself Sought Out No Food, But With A Piteous And Perpetual Moan, And A Quick Desolate Cry, Licking The Hand Which Answer'd Not With A Caress—he Died. The Crowd Was Famish'd By Degrees; But Two Of An Enormous City Did Survive, And They Were Enemies: They Met Beside The Dying Embers Of An Altar-place Where Had Been Heap'd A Mass Of Holy Things For An Unholy Usage; They Rak'd Up, And Shivering Scrap'd With Their Cold Skeleton Hands The Feeble Ashes, And Their Feeble Breath Blew For A Little Life, And Made A Flame Which Was A Mockery; Then They Lifted Up Their Eyes As It Grew Lighter, And Beheld Each Other's Aspects—saw, And Shriek'd, And Died— Even Of Their Mutual Hideousness They Died, Unknowing Who He Was Upon Whose Brow Famine Had Written Fiend. The World Was Void, The Populous And The Powerful Was A Lump, Seasonless, Herbless, Treeless, Manless, Lifeless— A Lump Of Death—a Chaos Of Hard Clay. The Rivers, Lakes And Ocean All Stood Still, And Nothing Stirr'd Within Their Silent Depths; Ships Sailorless Lay Rotting On The Sea, And Their Masts Fell Down Piecemeal: As They Dropp'd They Slept On The Abyss Without A Surge— The Waves Were Dead; The Tides Were In Their Grave, The Moon, Their Mistress, Had Expir'd Before; The Winds Were Wither'd In The Stagnant Air, And The Clouds Perish'd; Darkness Had No Need Of Aid From Them—she Was The Universe. Have A Wonderful Night Everyone
this poem would reall7 speak to a friend of mine
Does Anybody Know What Happened To @arachnidsgrip#6586s And What She Did While She Was Out On The Town Because I Think Those Two May Correlate
Pleasure. I just wanted it to be clear myself not any of my direct Cabinet members have anything to do with this situation.
It Would Be Quite Foolish Of Me To Not Believe Mister Trollbama Himself
This Fine Piece Of Poetry Is Titled "amor Mundi" Which Was Created By The Talented Christina Rossetti Whose Work I Am Quite A Fan Of As You Can Tell By My Biography Amor Mundi Translates To Love Of The World Which Greatly Highlights This Poems Themes Christina Rossetti Was Engaged Twice But Never Married The First Time Was To James Collinson At Eighteen But Their Engagement Was Later Called Off Because Of Collinsons Conversion To Roman Catholicism Rossetti Ended Up Never Marrying As Every Time She Was Proposed To After Collinson She Rejected Them For The Same Reason Which Was Difference In Religious Beliefs “ Oh Where Are You Going With Your Love-locks Flowing On The West Wind Blowing Along This Valley Track?” “ The Downhill Path Is Easy, Come With Me An It Please Ye, We Shall Escape The Uphill By Never Turning Back.” So They Two Went Together In Glowing August Weather, The Honey-breathing Heather Lay To Their Left And Right; And Dear She Was To Dote On, Her Swift Feet Seemed To Float On The Air Like Soft Twin Pigeons Too Sportive To Alight. “ Oh What Is That In Heaven Where Gray Cloud-flakes Are Seven, Where Blackest Clouds Hang Riven Just At The Rainy Skirt?” “ Oh That’s A Meteor Sent Us, A Message Dumb, Portentous, An Undeciphered Solemn Signal Of Help Or Hurt.” “ Oh What Is That Glides Quickly Where Velvet Flowers Grow Thickly, Their Scent Comes Rich And Sickly?”—“a Scaled And Hooded Worm.” “ Oh What’s That In The Hollow, So Pale I Quake To Follow?” “oh That’s A Thin Dead Body Which Waits The Eternal Term.” “ Turn Again, O My Sweetest,—turn Again, False And Fleetest: This Beaten Way Thou Beatest I Fear Is Hell’s Own Track.” “ Nay, Too Steep For Hill-mounting; Nay, Too Late For Cost-counting: This Downhill Path Is Easy, But There’s No Turning Back.” I Hope This Was Equally As Engaging For You All As It Was For Me It Was Quite The Exercise Getting My Facts Straight For Your Enjoyment And Education
It Seems My Quirk Had Glitched A Couple Times Throughout This And I Should Have Proofread A Tad More So Please Do Forgive Me As I Will Fix Mistakes Like This In Tomorrows Post
Hello Everyone I Plan On Posting A Poem Every Day I Hope We Can All Enjoy Them Together